


Until Night's Over

by feathersandtrenchcoats



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anxiety, Depression, Eventual Romance, High School, Insomnia, M/M, Nobody gets any sleep, Panic Attacks, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Suicidal Thoughts, Tony Stark Needs a Hug Too, don't worry we'll get there
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-01
Updated: 2018-06-29
Packaged: 2019-05-16 18:34:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14816661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/feathersandtrenchcoats/pseuds/feathersandtrenchcoats
Summary: Peter Parker has really bad panic attacks.And after Berlin, they've gotten scary.And after waking up five nights in a row, crying, he goes out on a limb... to text Tony Stark about it.--A post Civil War AU where Tony and Peter bond over their anxiety problems and start something else neither wants to admit. Written out of 50% sheer boredom, 50% I-really-wanted-to-read-this-so-I'm-writing-it willpower.





	1. one

**Author's Note:**

> Additional tags will be added with chapter updates!
> 
> \--  
> Alright folks, here's my Starker debut because I'm dying to read this and I cannot get this idea out of my head.  
> (Small Warning: Both Peter and Tony are/will be in a really bad emotional place. It's gonna get heckin' dark before it gets better. Strap in.) (Also, I'm not a doctor and I don't have any authority on what anyone's heart rate actually is. I'm making a good educated fictional guess based on some WebMD research and applied superhero logic. Cool? cool.)

Peter sees everything in front of him like it’s happening in some sick, slow motion horror film. He’s frozen, useless, and has no choice but to watch his mind unfold in front of him.  

Uncle Ben, on the ground. Dark color spreads across his clothes, his eyes glazing over as he wheezes on the pavement. Wordless crowds fly by. No one sees, no one stops to help, no one pays the old man a second thought. Street lights flicker as he screams, dying, alone, in pain…

Berlin. Everything moves so fucking fast. His idols broken down into something bitter, angry, and disappointingly human. Biting back noises every punch, every fall, every hit. Humiliation when he can’t do it anymore, when he can’t get up. Sent home like a kid. Like someone shunned to the side, sent to their room. Don’t deserve it, you fucking blew it, you can’t....

And May. May’s crying again. Walk in from school and she tries to make sure you don’t see her red eyes, putting on a show. If she found out what he was really doing when he said he was interning, he knew it would kill her. Seeing her get the call one day, her hearing that Peter Parker’s dead in an alley, killed by some street nobody, the guilt, the loss, the secrets…

His eyes open to darkness. His room. He’s fine. It’s fine. It’s not.

Racing heart, tears soaking his pillowcase, absolutely drenched in sweat. Hyperventilating. In, out, in, out - stop, stop please calm down.

God, when will this ever stop.

He presses his hands to his forehead, hard.

It feels like Berlin was the very last straw to Peter keeping his anxiety at bay and now the open flood gate has no mercy but to leave him shattered night, after night, after night, after night,

He sits up, peeling sticky sheets off him. Digital clock reads 3AM. His breathing is still out of control, but he’s fighting hard to normalize it.

By now he knows better than to try and go back to sleep.

He clicks his side table light on. It’s fine, he repeats to himself. He’s here, in his room, and everything is the same as it was when he went to sleep. One more deep, slow breath. Okay, fine, better, getting there...

Okay. Phone on the bedside table. He cancels his morning alarm. Won’t need it if he’ll be up anyway, right? Peter swipes down to his text notifications and, yep, no surprise- Tony Stark, received 2:45 AM.

Honestly, without this nightly texting, he doesn’t really know if he’d still be alive. After Berlin, after night number five of waking up screaming, Peter had texted Tony out of total desperation. Maybe he knew how to cope with this? He’d been dealing with this whole superhero thing for much longer than Peter had, so on total impulse it seemed like the right person to text.

Turns out, Tony had also been up with an attack that night… and the next… and every night since. He didn’t have much help on actually dealing with them, mind you, but there was a whole lot to be found in the weird camaraderie of it. Now, every night, when Peter inevitably woke up in a panic, he’d text Stark the details. Stark would reply with his own, and a strange, night-support-duo-vent-counseling friendship was formed.

Tonight was, unsurprisingly, no different. Peter tapped on the message to open it.

TS: _Damn. Weird shame-father dream again. Seems like I woke up before you though, that’s a rarity… Really hoping I don’t hear from you till healthy ‘ol seven am. No offense._

Peter can’t help but give a small smile, heart slowly regaining it’s normal rate. He types,

PP: _Sorry to disappoint. The usual over here. Some Berlin thrown in for good measure. What’d he do this time?_

Send. His phone buzzes only a couple minutes later.

TS: _Told me he wished his son was Captain fucking America and not some shitty robot wannabe. Oh, and for good measure, he said that I was designing my thrusters wrong. So, the usual! What about Berlin?_

PP: _Dammmnn. I’m sorry. If it helps, I’m glad you’re not Captain America._

PP: _Oh, just, feeling useless. And realizing the whole superhero facade? You know? Like you read about all of you in the news and it’s like, you’re gods. Then in person you are all just… people. Doing people things. Having people fights. No offense._

Peter regrets it the moment he hits send. Backtrack, shit-

PP: _Not in a bad way!! Like, it’s good that you’re not gods and wow obviously you’re not, except like, literally Thor but that’s not the point and I’m not criticising anything it’s just, I should have known better. I’m sorry._

It’s one minute of agony before he gets a reply.

TS: _Lol. No worries kid. Wish I was, I bet gods get great fucking sleep. Better ask thunder-Hansel next time I see him._

TS: _Plus you wouldn’t get the whole survivor’s guilt thing if you can’t literally die, right?_

TS: _Joking._

TS: _Kind of._

TS: _Also, you’re one of us now. Give yourself more credit. You did great._

Peter squirmed. It was weird. The line between “you’re my mentor” and “you’re my friend” was awkward. 

PP: _Thanks._

PP: _Okay, I’ve got homework.  RHB?_

Resting Heart Beat. A couple weeks ago, they’d made a mini pact. Once your heart rate was marginally normal, you could say goodnight.

It was their way of making sure they were both sort of okay after checking in.  They were both naturally high strung, (Peter, especially, for all his super-human-spider-stuff,) so they weren’t exactly normal on the standard heart rate scale... but since they couldn’t actually see each other’s well being, it was close enough.

TS: _78._

Okay, normal. Peter paused, checking his pulse. Counting, counting… okay. He was on his personal normal scale too.

PP: _95\. Night Mr. Stark._

TS: _Night kid._

Peter got out of bed, crossing his room to get to his desk. He unzipped his backpack and pulled out some textbooks, ready to sink into their familiar, easy rhythm. Before he knew it, morning light would make it’s way in and another day could start...

But for now, he was kind of okay.

And across the city, Tony was too.

\--

"Peter? Peter. Wake up." someone's whispering in his ear.

Well, not so much whispering as talking. And shaking him. Urgently. Wait.

"What- what? Shit." Peter startled, hard. Ned, sitting next to him, stopped shaking him, opting for an elbow in the side. Ow. The bright pain of it brings him back to his surroundings.

"Dude, answer him.”

Class. He's in class. Right. Okay. Damn.

He looks up, making eye contact with Mr. Ainsley. The look he's getting from him is a bemusing mixture of concern and annoyance. "Mr. Parker, once again, mind sharing with us your work on question seventeen? Or would you rather continue your beauty sleep?"

Peter felt his face heat up immediately. "Sorry sir, of course," he said shakily, flipping madly through his workbook. "Um, seventeen. Yes. Okay, I theorized that the impact of the object depended entirely on the speed at which..."

Mercifully, the next period is a lunch block.

Not so mercifully, by the time he wound his way back to the lunch table with food, Michelle and Ned are staring daggers into him.

“I know, I know,” he muttered, steeling for the onslaught.

Ned was the first to start. “Peter. We’re worried about you. I know you know that- but, as your friends, we need to say that we’re here for you if you ever want to talk-”

“Right. And I literally don’t care about anyone, so coming from me- It’s just- damn. You’re out of it, like, all the time.” Michelle pitched in.

“I’ve had to wake you up three times this week, Peter. And it’s Tuesday. And I don’t really mind it’s just- you never used to do that and we’re… we’re just worried.” Ned continued.

“Yeah… what he said.” Michelle finished. “Oh! Oh and I had to wake you up in shop too. That’s four. But really it’s fine.”

Peter opened his mouth, closed it, cleared his throat. His hands were shaking under the table. Thank god they couldn’t see them. He didn’t even know how to begin. His first instinct was to reach for his phone, text Tony. But he couldn't do that, they only talked at night. Peter couldn't annoy him every hour of the day. What if he scared him off?

The truth was, he’d always had anxiety. He’d never forget, in fifth grade, the very first day Aunt May sent him to school after starting medication. It was like a whole new world had opened up. Finally, everything had seemed alright. He could concentrate, he could enjoy school, he could open up and make friends. He was normal.

All of that had changed in the last couple of months. It was like every carefully built safety wall around him was crumbling, brick by brick by brick by...

To begin, his new abilities had completely nulled the effect of his anxiety medication. Even if he was still taking it, his metabolism would destroy the stuff long before he got to school. He’d given up trying to make it work even before Uncle Ben died. Regardless. At that point, he had managed. He identified what things were upsetting him, what he could do about it- and whatever did manage to get to him he could beat out in his nightly web-slinging routines. He made it work.

He had it under control.

What happened in Berlin had gone and shattered every nerve he had left. The worst was that, from the outside, it almost seemed like nothing truly bad had happened to him. He made it there, he fought okay, he came home.

But Peter replayed the events of it all endlessly. Why didn’t he throw a punch there? Why did he let Steve get out? Why didn’t he get back up? He’d had every chance there was to prove himself, to prove he could be an Avenger. He could have done more. The way Tony had treated him was downright humiliating. He felt ashamed.

Earth’s mightiest heroes had a pissing fit with each other, and Peter he was the collateral. He wasn’t good enough. He was packed up, carted back to Queens, and left behind.

And now everything was too fucking much. And he hadn’t worn his suit in weeks. All that “great power, great responsibility” shit down the drain. It was eating him alive.

But here, sitting with his two best friends, how could he even start? He imagined telling them that he was Spider-Man. That Uncle Ben’s death had been his fault. That he’d been spiraling down every night, pulled back out only by the help of _Tony Stark_ , of all people. That he could be an Avenger right now if he hadn’t fucked up his chances.

Instead of that, he went with the safest cop-out. “I just can’t sleep. I’m sorry I’m worrying you guys, but really, it’s just been hard at home without Uncle Ben... and May’s had it rough too. Just, um, helping her.. and the Stark Internship on top of homework is, is a lot. I’m trying. There’s just... a lot going on right now.”

They listened, but he could tell neither of them were really buying it all. His “Stark Internship” had been going on for months and there was no reason it should be effecting him so badly now.

Ned seemed to read his mind exactly. “Maybe this whole internship is too much. They can’t expect so much of you… what if you called it quits this semester? Maybe you’d be more up for it next year,” he offered.

“Are you kidding me? Drop a Stark Internship? Do you know how screwed over my resume would look?” Peter snapped. Oh, damn. He regretted it immediately. He knew his friends were just trying to help, and he was throwing lies in their faces and expecting them to take it. “I’m sorry. That wasn’t fair.”

Michelle sighed. “Ned, drop it. He’s not gonna tell us.”

 

The rest of lunch passed in silence.

  



	2. two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry- I don't really know how this chapter got the way that it is. I apparently have a weird muse. Buuuut, I've rewritten it about 7 times and I think it's time for me to just set it out to sea.  
> So, hello sea! Here is this chapter. I don't want to stare at it anymore.
> 
> (Note: I got all caught up writing some shitty, made up monster that truly has nothing to do with the rest of the plot. I'm sorry that you will have to read this, but I don't feel up to the challenge of writing an actual Spider-Man villain.  
> Please ignore it's weirdly non specific tentacle description.)

When Peter stumbles into the front door after school, exhaustion doesn’t even begin to encapsulate the ache in his head.

God, he wants to talk to someone about it.

Well, that was a lie. Not ‘someone.’ Tony. He wanted to text Tony about it.

He wanted to call, and really talk. Maybe tell him this wasn’t all just nightmares, tell him about his meds, tell him about his friends. Maybe confess that this wasn’t something he felt like living through anymore.

Right.

“May, I’m here! Sorry I’m late, internship ran behind.” he shouts into the next room.

“It’s fine, I was just about to text you.” May calls back. “Could you get plates out?”

He calls an affirmative back to her, and runs upstairs to deposit his backpack.

He is, of course, not doing any semblance of the “Stark Internship”. To make matters worse, with his new bout of sleep deprivation he hasn’t been doing any spider-man duties either. It feels dirty to be not only lying to Aunt May.. but also double crossing his original lies.

For the past few weeks after school, he’d typically just web himself up to a corner of a rooftop, set an alarm, and nap.

Stark Internship his ass.

Peter makes his way back down to the kitchen to lend May a hand. It’s lasagna night, and they have a weekly tradition of dinner in front of the TV. Today, it was Price is Right.

He grabs a serving and can’t help but sigh at the comfort of it all.

May, food, home.

Sanctuary.

Dinner is, of course, delicious.

They chat good-naturedly about school and work. May just got promoted, which meant more late nights for her, but Peter was happy for her. She’s excited about it, and he’s a good listener. They talked a little about his “internship”.

It’s almost casual when May switches gears. “Peter, I got up last night and your light was on. Are you sleeping badly again?” Her eyes are gentle, but he can see the concern in the way she’s gripping her silverware.

Her knuckles are white with strain.

“Yeah, actually. It’s okay. I woke up kind of early and just decided to stay up. You know, homework and all.” He provides. He isn’t exactly lying...

“Sweetie, if we need to adjust your prescription, you just have to tell me. You know this has happened before, and it’s okay to ask for help.” she says quietly.

Peter’s heart aches. “May, thank you. But really, it’s okay.” He sucks in his breath, “I’ve got it covered this time.”

“Okay. I’m not going to push you. Remember, you can always tell me about what’s going on... And I love you. All that jazz.” She sighs.

Without warning, every hair on the back of Peter’s neck stands up.

His eyes dart back to the television.

Something is very wrong.

As if on cue with her “You can always tell me”, a news alert flashes on the bottom of the TV screen. Bob Barker’s voice is drowned out by a screeching beep and the harsh mechanical alert voice.

Peter fights the urge to cover his ears at the sound of it.

_“Attention. An active threat has been identified in Washington Square Park. We ask that residents of New York City remain inside. Those within a  fifteen block radius, please take cover away from windows. Remain calm. NYPD has arrived at the scene.”_

Oh fuck.

And it had to be on lasagna night...

Before the announcement has finished, Peter is already off the couch and halfway up the stairs. He shouts excuses over his shoulder on the way up. “May, I have um- an essay that I forgot about. I’m sorry! I should have started when I got home, it’s a lot of- physics, sorry!” and for good measure, “This is gonna take, like, all night! I’m sorry!”

When he gets to his room, he locks the door and strips fast.

He’s out the window in full web-suit before he even hears May’s answer.

Damn. This is gonna be a tough one to smooth over later.

Despite the guilt, raw adrenaline pulses through his blood.

This was it. This was his chance to be Spider-Man again. This was something tangible, something possible. By tonight, he could be an Avenger.

He couldn't fuck this up.

To get to Greenwich Village from his apartment in Queens, there was going to be some ground to cover.

He prays to every damn spider god that he’ll make it there before something escalates.

 

\--

 

Fifteen minutes of full body muscle-screaming-web-slinging later, Peter perches on a rooftop corner of West 4th Street to get a good look at the situation. He’s out of breath and his shoulders are on fire. To say his muscles were out of practice was an understatement.

Pull it together, Peter. Stop. Look around you. Pull it the fuck together.

Don’t fuck this up.

He collects his breath, and surveys the scene. Police cars line the perimeter of the park on all corners. The police are out of their cars, guns trained on something in the park. So far, all the offense unscathed. In the center of the park, Peter spots his target. Something… wait, what the fuck is that?

He can see something through tree branches, something writhing and black and definitively not-human. Okay... weird.

He latches a web to the closest tree, swinging to get a closer look. Whatever the thing was, it was large and spreading out over the park. Hold up, was that a tentacle?

Okay…. more weird.  

Peter preps his web shooters, but truthfully unsure of how to even start.

Maybe if he can web down the spreading edges, there’s something in the middle of this glob that’s fightable..? Surely some kind of consciousness is driving the boat.

He webs a corner, slinging to land directly onto the… whatever the fuck you would call this. Thing? Thing. Sure.

The “thing” has a disgustingly gelatinous surface. If it weren’t for his suit webbing, he’d have surely fallen on the slick surface. Now that he was only a couple feet away from the tentacles, it was obvious they were getting larger.

Maybe if he could web them up enough, it couldn’t expand…?

Web shot, web shot- oh shit. Wait. Double shit.

His spidey-webs are getting entirely absorbed by the appendage. Even better, now it’s getting interested in him.

The first tentacle slams into him. Peter dives to scramble-roll underneath it. He uses his speed to his advantage, ducking away and around to get back on his feet-

The second time, the “thing” seems to have made itself smarter.. and stickier. The next tentacle slams into him. When he tries to pull out of it’s grip, it does nothing except to wrap more tightly around him.

He struggles again, trying desperately to free a web shooter, maybe just to pull himself out with something else-

Fuck. The squeeze is getting excruciatingly tight.

Oh my god.

Fuck.

It’s getting hard to breath.

All thoughts of strategy and bravery go out of his mental window when he realizes what’s happening.

He’s hyperventilating.

Dizzy panic floods his system.

Shit, shit. Why? How did he think this was a good idea?

His lungs are being crushed in by the pressure, his vision fuzzing over, he feels his face wet under his suit.

Everything is uncomfortable and impossible hot.

Impossible to think, impossible to breath, impossible to...

Peter loses all sense of reality.

 

\--

 

The next thing he’s aware of is concrete.

Concrete and noise.

His body feels like it’s gone through a meat grinder. His mind screaming about something dark and hot and claustrophobic.

From the back of his thoughts, he gets the distinct feeling that his lungs aren’t really working.

Then, as if he’s emerging from water…

The sounds of the world suddenly rush back into clarity-

Someone is talking to him.

“Peter. Peter, fuck. Kid. Please be okay.”

“Sir, my scans show that Mr. Parker is regaining consciousness.”

“Thanks, Friday. Vitals check?”

“It appears that Mr. Parker has sustained a prolonged period of attempted strangulation. I’m getting evidence that his enhanced healing is working to counteract the effects. He might be incapable of response for the time being.”

Peter tried and failed to hold back a long whimper. Surely, without his spider abilities, he would be dead. No fucking doubt about it. That wasn’t a huge condolence, though, when his entire body felt like it was on fire. God. Death would surely be better.

“Peter. Kid, can you hear me?” Someone spoke again.

He knew that voice.

Oh.

Oh-

He finally blinked his eyes open.

The immediate sensory overload of it all overwhelming. The sun had long since gone down, but he was lying face up on some concrete structure. A rooftop? Probably, given the proximity of the few stars he could spot through New York City’s light haze.

The lights, the pain, the cold.

And to make it worse, he knew that voice...

Crouched above him was Tony Stark.

He was in full Iron Man suit, his face panel up to reveal a face lined with exhaustion and worry.

Peter startled into an upright position. “Mr. Stark-” he started, or, at least- he tried. What should have been words came out as a wheeze... His healing must have still been processing the whole talking thing.

“Kid- you’re safe. We got it. We must have been seconds behind you- Banner and I came in and took the… well, whatever the fuck that was- out. Once it started dying it dropped you. It’s been three hours. What the fuck were you thinking, going out on your own?”

Peter processed about half of the sentence before realizing his vision was slipping back to black. He could feel himself falling, falling,

 

As if it’s happening to a body very, very far away, his consciousness registers someone catching him before his back hits the ground.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


	3. three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello. My favorite city is Angst City.

Peter surfaces again into a world he knows all too well.

The street corner three blocks from his house.

Late evening.

And-

Time frozen in the moment his entire world lost its light.

The sunset dying over the faces of mindless crowds, on the way to their homes, their lives. Peter stands still on the sidewalk as he watches his uncle bleed out on the pavement. Like always, no one seems to see them.

He knows this game.

No amount of running can get him in reach.

No amount of screaming can get the sea of people rushing past to take heed.

No amount of tears can will Ben back to life.

He knows, very distantly, that this cannot be real. He cannot be here again, seeing this again.

This has already happened.

How many times? How many times has this happened?

An infinite amount of pain.

“Uncle Ben, I know this isn’t real. I know I fucking failed you and I’m so fucking sorry.” He’s calls to a million deaf ears.

Just like that, the vision begins to shut down.

As the edges of the picture blur away, someone in the crowd stops. Brown eyes burning with fear. This time, someone heard him.

_Someone fucking heard him-_

 

And, like being pulled out of water, Peter is rudely jolted back into reality.

The first thing he registers is the pain. God, everything still hurts.

He pulls the sheets to his face, desperate to wipe away the memory, wipe away the incriminating pain leaking from his eyes. Sitting up gently-

His muscles flame with protest, and he’s biting back a moan just from the simple action of moving from the pillows.

Wait, pillows?

Pillows. Oh-

And sheets.

A bed.  A very, very soft bed-

In a room that is very much not his room.

His already spiked pulse ratchets up as a fresh wave of adrenaline wracks him.

Why? Why wasn’t he home? Did May know he was missing, did May know-  

Oh.

The monster thing. Right. Lasagna night and he’d taken a stupid risk and…

and he remembered claustrophobic darkness and cold and...

Tony screaming for him on the rooftop.

That particular memory made his mind feel peculiar- like he could latch himself to that desperation, that willful fear- like someone caring that much about him could almost-

Not now, Parker. Fucking focus.

His eyes dart the room. A bed, bigger than his one at home, and unsettlingly comfortable. Light grey walls. A window with heavy blue curtains pulled closed.

Peter’s gaze travels to the source of light in the room: a yellow lamp atop the nightstand closest to him. Next to it, a pen. Next to that, a note.

Gingerly, he reaches for it, ignoring the protesting pain.

 

_Spidey -_

_Calm down. You are in Avengers Tower. Banner and I decided it was best to let FRIDAY (Oh- I have an AI, her name is FRIDAY) continue monitoring you over the night. You kept collapsing on us earlier and it didn’t seem right to just drop you somewhere since you weren’t stabilizing._

_If you need anything, just ask FRIDAY, she’s nice._

_We contacted your Aunt. You’ve been called out of school for the day. Kid. Take it fucking easy._

_\- T_

 

Avengers Tower. Avengers fucking Tower.

Jesus, focus Parker.

Okay, so if May had been filled in… how filled in? How much did they tell her? Fuck. He knew there was a conversation waiting for him that he sincerely did not want to have… and that it would have to wait.

The monster, then. Tony and Banner had, apparently, saved him. That’s... embarrassing. He winces at the idea. Avengers shouldn’t need saving.

Wait, and, AI?

“Hello? Uh- Friday?”

A smooth, female voice answers.

“Good morning Mr. Parker. How may I help you?”

Peter laughs. Apparently Stark’s technology was even more advanced than he could have guessed.

God, Ned would probably die if he told him Tony Stark had an AI in Avengers Tower.

Well, then Ned would ask how Peter Parker knew that there was an AI in Avengers Tower because what business does Peter have there and then that would lead to-

Jesus fuck, _focus_ Parker.

“Uh, yeah. Actually- what time is it?”

“Right now it is three thirty-two in the morning.”

“Oh. Right on time”

“Sorry, I don’t understand what you are on schedule for.” Her metallic voice raises at the end of the statement, making it more of a half question. Damn, that’s natural. He makes a mental note to grill Stark about his butler AI.

“I just meant, I usually wake up this time and text... Well, I have nightmares, so then I wake up and usually talk to- well,”

Explaining his nightly habits to _Tony Stark’s_ _Artificial Intelligence_ _System_ suddenly seems exceedingly stupid.

“Actually, it really doesn’t matter.”

“Mr. Parker, would you like to talk to Mr. Stark?”

Peter jolts. “No, no- no I don’t. Wait, why? I mean, why would I talk to-”

“My records show that Mr. Stark texts you almost nightly following high stress dreams. This is approximately the time of night that the two of you seem to converse. Would you like for me to contact Mr. Stark for you?”

“How do you know that?”

“I monitor everything in the Tower including Mr. Stark’s personal messages and calls.”

“Oh."

"Would you like me to c-"

"No! No. Don’t call him.”

“I could text him if you preferred.”

Damn, she was persistent.

“Fine.”

“What would you like for me to text him?”

“Just- just tell text him thank you. From me. Just, thanks.”

“Of course. Is there anything else I can do for you?”

“Actually, yes- what’s my heart rate right now?”

“My readings say your current heart beat is at ninety-five.”

She didn’t even hesitate to check. So, logically, it must have already been tracking his vitals. He imagined Mr. Stark bringing him here, writing kind notes, asking his personal AI to monitor Peter.

Jesus fuck, Parker. Stop.

“Okay. Text him that too.”

“Done.”

Peter can’t help a small grin. AI lady is, admittedly, very cool.

“Thanks Friday.”

Maybe it’s the softness of the sheets.

Maybe it’s the near-death-experience-exhaustion.

Maybe it’s knowing  that someone is watching out for him.

Either way, sleep reclaims him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this one's a lil short but I thought something was better than nothing.  
> Next chapter (a LONGER chapter I heckin swear) should be up in a few days! 
> 
> Thanks for reading!! I love, love writing Peter Parker.


End file.
